I was socially isolated and bullied pretty bad throughout elementary and middle school. Some of it from the faculty, most of it from the other students.
It came to a head when I was around 12. I was attacked in the hallway between classes by a random kid I'd never met before. And I snapped. Literally saw red. I still clearly remember thinking, "Either he dies, or I do. And I don't care which one."
And I made an honest effort. I didn't manage to lay a hand on the kid, since I knew ###$ all about how to fight. I got hit in the face so many times charging at him that I required reconstructive surgery afterward, with the doctors commenting that it was a miracle none of the bone fragments in my shattered skull ended up in my brain. I tried to struggle free of the teachers who had to drag us apart, knowing full well that I had no chance of winning that fight, because I knew that nothing would change unless this ended with one of us dead.
Apparently I was wrong about that. My injuries were so severe that the kid who'd attacked me ended up expelled and facing criminal charges. The school (who literally used the phrase "boys will be boys") ended up in such legal trouble they couldn't ignore the bullying anymore and had to step in, at least when I was being targeted after that point.
The thing that bothers me the most, to this day, is that nothing changed until I decided that I was okay with dying.